Forgotten
by JuliansGIrl
Summary: She thought she had left that life behind.
1. Forgotten

She felt as if her heart was breaking

She felt as if her heart was breaking. She had gone so long, not allowing herself to think of him. She had built her life anew, learning again to live without him. She moved away from home, from her life and started again. Over the years, the memory of him had faded, and now he only remained as a dream. A beautiful, passionate dream that disappears almost entirely upon waking. And so she learned to live again, new town, new life. A life without love.

She only kept in contact with her mother, preferring not to keep the memories of such a happy life. She even left her grandparents behind, her father, her best and oldest friends. She couldn't bear to see the way they had moved on and grown with the people they love. She always felt they secretly thought she needed to let go of the memory of him and start to live again. But in a way she had done exactly that. She had found a new life for herself. Work was her life.

She devoted herself to it fully, keeping herself from the feeling of solitude and loneliness. She rationalised this to herself with the idea that if she was surrounded by people, she wasn't truly alone. And she used that thought to protect herself from hurt. She built her new life around her like a shield. A shield to keep her memories of him at bay.

And then there he was.

He came again into her life as if he had never left. But in his reappearance he was a different man, a changed man. No longer was he the vibrant, larger-than-life man he was in her head. Now he was quiet, repressed and intently focussed. No longer did he look immaculately turned out. His hair was cut short, shorter than he ever wore before, emphasising the tired lines of his face. The dull blue colour of his shirt washed out his features, where she once remembered that wearing blue drew out the colour of his eyes. He was a shadow of the man he once was, the man she once loved.

He was not expecting her either. His face betrayed his surprise, a shadow of pain, of confusion, and longing crossed his features before they smoothed once again to become impassive. His gaze swept over her tired grey suit, the unkempt ponytail her hair was scraped back into. He was amazed to see his girl so lifeless. Their eyes locked and she knew he'd tried to forget her as much as she had him.

At first they had no words for each other. None were needed. One look at each other said all they needed to. The pain, the regret. It was all still there, newly discovered after years of denial. They stood in the grand foyer of her workplace, so much open space, and yet it felt crowded with the depths of their emotions. They stood still, on either sides of the foyer, staring at each other, two stone pillars that people ignored as they crossed the floor. They needed no words to speak to each other, seeking a quiet place for the inevitable reunion.

When they were alone, finally he spoke.

"You're here."

"I live here now." Her reply was quiet. There was none of the vivaciousness that he had tried so hard to forget.

"I'm engaged." He was not sure why he felt he had to tell her.

"I know. I read the announcement in the paper. Congratulations. Your family must be proud."

There was no eye contact between them. They stood facing each other, dead space between them, and the tense silence mounted. Neither of them moved nor spoke. When the agony of silence became too much she turned to leave. And, in the deafening quiet, she heard him take one step toward her.

"I still miss you."

She stilled. He had spoken so softly she thought she had imagined it. She thought that maybe, after all the years of being unable to forget, and then finally seeing him again, she had dreamed him saying the words she had so painfully longed for him to say. And then he spoke again.

"I try not to. It's been so long. I'm engaged. I've tried to convince myself that I'm happy. But how can I be, when I don't have you? When I'm not marrying you?"

She half-turned to face him, years of unshed tears building in her eyes.

"I let you go. I wasn't in a place to be what you needed. But that doesn't mean that it didn't hurt. It still does. But what I did was right. You moved on, you're even engaged now." She turned to leave once again, but she was stopped by him reaching out to take her wrist with a touch she remembered so intimately. She refused to face him. She couldn't bear to look at that face she had loved so dearly. He whispered her name, half pleading, half in fear.

It was that whisper, that soft expulsion of air that broke her. She turned, blindly, lips seeking his in a dance so familiar it hurt. Hands tangled in her hair, hands sought for the familiar slopes of his face. There seemed no space between them as they clung to one another, lips, bodies and hearts fused together as one.

He tilted his head, in an unconsciously familiar gesture, deepening the kiss in a desperate need to get closer to her. A noise slipped from her, half moan, half whimper, and it brought her back to reality. To the empty room with the only man she couldn't ever be with.

She broke the kiss, their faces still intimately close, too close. A soft breath of air and she knew that he knew it too. She took his hand from her hair and raised it to her lips in a poignant goodbye before releasing it, and him. He took a half step back, not making eye contact, but not quite breaking the invisible string that held them together.

The world stopped, and all that was left was their hearts calling to each other, aching to be free again. Free to live, and free to love. Time stretched on in this new world they had built together, until it felt as if there was nothing left but the two of them.

And just as suddenly as it started, it was gone. He ran a hand through his close cropped hair, a style that gave him an air of severity. Still unable to meet each other's gaze, he made a sound of finality, then turned and walked away. He left without another word, just as suddenly as he had appeared.

She watched his retreating form and knew no mater how much she changed her life, how much she tried to forget, he would always be the one to own her heart. As he took the final steps and closed the door, disappearing from view, she finally found the strength to say the words she had been trying, desperately, to say for years.

"Goodbye Logan."


	2. Chapter 2

The bright sun burned her eyes

The bright sun burned her eyes. After hiding herself in the shadows for so long, the brightness hurt. The warm breeze seemed like fire, gently licking her too pale skin. It felt good to finally feel something again, so she remained in the sun, soaking up the heat and the light, content to relax on her sun-lounger and enjoy not being at work.

She had told her mother how she had run into Logan, careful not to tell her everything that happened between them, and her mother had been proud that her daughter had finally begun to let him go. Rory knew how much her heartbreak had been hurting her family, Loralei in particular, and this was a hopeful sign that things were going to start getting better. Her mother suggested that she take some time off work, go on a vacation to straighten out her thoughts. And she had done exactly that. She had found the sunniest, most luxurious island she could and booked her trip immediately.

And now she was there on the beach, cocktail in one hand and novel in the other. She was determined to sit where she was, in the sun, until she was able to feel a bit more like herself. The sound of the ocean, and the warm salty air was already doing its part to lift a little of the burden that she carried.

She looked up from her book, as somebody sat down on the lounger nearest her. It was a woman, about the same age as her, maybe a little older. She was beautiful, in a simple way, with sandy blonde hair tucked under a wide brimmed hat. The woman flashed a kind smile to her as she settled in.

"First time on the island?" the woman asked, pulling out some sun tan lotion from her bag.

"Yes, actually. I had some vacation time built up, and wanted somewhere sunny and warm to spend it. What about you? Been here before?" Rory wasn't sure why she felt the need to continue talking to the woman. There was something about her, so open and friendly.

"I've been here once before. It was so beautiful that I decided to treat my husband and bring him here for our honeymoon. I'm Caroline, by the way." The woman looked so in love when she mentioned her husband.

"Rory. So, you're here on your honeymoon? Congratulations." Rory couldn't help but feel a little sad at the fact that she was on her vacation alone.

"Thank you! I can't believe that I get to spend the rest of my life with the man of my dreams. There's nothing like it." The woman was glowing with pride. "Oh, here he comes now." She smiled and waved. Rory looked up to see her companion's new husband, and she felt her heart turn to ice, despite the blazing sun.

It was Logan.

In a cruel twist of fate, on this island thousands of miles from home, the woman who chose to sit next to her, was the new Mrs Logan Huntzberger, a title that Rory was now never going to have herself. She watch Logan track across the sand, looking exactly the same as when she last saw him, tired and run down. And she knew the exact second that he realised who his wife was sitting with.

"Rory? What are you doing here?" She wasn't sure who looked more shocked, Logan or the new Mrs Huntzberger.

"You two know each other?" Caroline looked from Rory to Logan, both of whom were avoiding looking directly at each other.

"Yeah, we worked on the paper at Yale together," Logan said after a prolonged pause, as if he were searching for words that could explain their connection. Rory couldn't speak. She felt as if her throat was swollen shut. The way Caroline was looking at them, Rory knew that Logan hadn't mentioned her to his new wife.

"Well, I'm late for meeting someone. It was lovely to meet you, Caroline." Rory tried to smile at her. "Logan."

"Rory." His voice sounded as fake as her own, but Caroline didn't seem to notice.

Rory grabbed her belongings, and hurried off the beach, feeling as if she was burning up in flames, the sun suddenly too hot, painfully beating down on her. She needed to reach the hotel building, her cold room, the dark as the answer for her grief. She made it back to her suite without falling apart, and she unlocked the door in haste rushing to pull the blinds closed even before the door was able to click shut.

Having blocked out the searing light, she crossed to the mini-bar and pulled out the vodka, ripping off the cap and taking one, two, three deep pulls from the neck before placing it heavily on the counter and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She stood in the dark, breathing heavily, the lid from the vodka still gripped in her hand. She felt betrayed. She had just been beginning to piece her life together again, her life without him, and then there he was. It was as if she was being punished. Every time she had tried to forget him and move on, and he would appear again.

Her mind blank, and yet churning at the same time, she reached for a tall glass, and after adding a few cubes of ice from the bucket provided at the bar, she proceeded to fill her glass to the top with the clear spirit. Picking up the glass, she moved to sit in the armchair next to the curtained window, placing the glass on the small side table. She curled her legs up onto the chair, and proceeded to fall apart. Her world was reduced to that small hotel room, and yet it didn't seem to be large enough to hold all her pain.

She wasn't sure how long she sat in that chair, but after a while she stood and started to get changed out of her beachwear, pulling on the thick robe that the hotel had thoughtfully provided. Her hair was a tangled mess, but she couldn't be bothered to try and fix it. She moved back to pick up her glass, condensation gathering on the outside of the glass, leaving a moist ring behind on the table. She took a long swallow, feeling the burning in her throat start to give way to the peaceful oblivion she craved for.

There was a quiet knock on the door. She knew immediately who it was, almost feeling his presence seeping into the room.

She opened the door a crack, trying not to let any light slip unwanted into her dark sanctuary. He looked at her through the gap, his face stony, trying not to let his emotions escape him.

"Please." One word and she knew he felt as she did, ripped apart and pushed back together in the wrong order over and over again. She opened the door a touch wider and then retreated deeper into the darkness.

They didn't look at each other, they didn't dare. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and she pulled the edges of her robe together, feeling all of sudden painfully exposed.

"I'm sorry." His voice was flat, harsh even

"I know."

"I didn't…"

"I know," she interrupted, not wanting to hear what he had to say. She was concentrating on not falling apart, not allowing him to know just how much she was hurting. "She loves you very much."

"She's not you." Those were the three words that broke Rory. All the pain, the grief she was feeling vanished, and all that was left was intense, burning rage. The glass that she was holding flew from her hand, shattering on the wall behind him in an explosion of glass and alcohol. He didn't flinch, just continued looking resolutely at the floor.

"Why are you here?" She was yelling now, unable to control herself. "Why do you keep doing this? You're here with your WIFE, who _loves_ you. Why do you keep doing this?" His silence was infuriating, only serving to enrage her more. Two steps and she was standing in front of him. "You can't keep doing this. You can't keep showing up and saying things like that to me. You have NO RIGHT. You're on your HONEYMOON. You chose to move one with some one else, you can't keep coming here and saying things like that. It isn't FAIR!"

Her fist flew out and struck him on the shoulder, hard. The physical contact shocked her out of her rage, and she stepped back, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. He made no sound, but turned his face away from the floor to look at her. She could feel herself starting to come apart, and she knew that he couldn't be there when it happened.

"Get out." Her voice was no louder than a whisper, a plea.

He took a half step toward her, but stopped when she shrank away from the movement.

"Rory…" His voice was just as soft, but with an edge of desperation. She turned away.

"Just go."

He let out a breath, and after what seemed like an eternity to her, he turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him. As the door clicked shut, she rushed over and turned the lock, sliding the security chain into place. And then, hand still on the door, she fell apart.

Sobs choked their way out of her and her legs lost their strength, sending her sliding down the wall to the floor. There was something blocking the light under the door, and she knew that he was still there, standing outside the door, listening to her fall apart. She could feel his pull through the door, feel his pain just as clearly as her own. But he stayed on his side, and she stayed on hers. And then she heard his feet scuff on the carpet outside as he started to walk away. And his voice, though soft, drifted under the door as he left her behind.

"Goodbye Rory."


	3. Chapter 3

She caught the first flight home. She was more than ready to leave the tiny island paradise that had become her own personal hell. Ready to leave the bright sun and happy people, the colourful cocktails by the pool and the 24-hour room service. She was painfully ready to go back to her life where there was rain, and dark colours, and silence. But despite how ready she was to leave, she was even more desperate to not return to her real life. Because real life had suddenly become infinitely more painful.

He had died on a Tuesday. Her mother had said it had been sudden, painless. But it was anything but painless. Rory felt as if she had died a little when her mother gave her the news, and every time after that, when she realised that it wasn't a dream, and that he was really gone, she died a little bit more. He had been one of the only constants in her life. No matter what was going on, she knew that she only had to pick up the phone, and he would be there, with kind words and comfortable silences. He always seemed to know what she needed, even before she did. But that was gone now, vanished with the death of her grandfather.

She got off the plane, and caught the first cab she could find, not bothering to wait for her luggage. She needed to see her mother, her grandmother, to confirm the horrible news that she already knew was true. She silently urged the car faster, but each mile closer to home she got, the burn in her chest grew, and she knew it was no hoax.

Her mother was waiting for her on the porch. The dark clothes she wore brought out the sallowness of her skin, highlighting deep purple smudges beneath her bloodshot eyes. Rory could feel herself falling apart under the sorrow-filled gaze her mother. She felt her leaden heart grow heavier, pulling her down towards the earth, and she only made three steps from the car before sinking to the ground. Lorelai was with her in an instant, and they both huddled, broken and sobbing on the lawn until Luke came out to bring them both inside.

The days leading up to the funeral passed Rory by in a haze. Her hearing seemed to have disappeared, sounds around her reduced to a hush. The only thing that she really remembered clearly was seeing her Grandmother for the first time since her return, realising that the fiery woman she remembered had been reduced to play the part of the grieving widow. Emily had sat in the drawing room, pale, withdrawn, unmoving. Dark glasses hid her eyes, even in the dim light of indoors, a half-full tumbler of ambler liquid permanently at her elbow. They were all staying in the big house, not wanting Emily to be there alone with her grief, but the house seemed cold and empty, and being there felt like trespassing. Rory didn't want stay long.

Dark clouds gathered on the day of the funeral, heavy and repressive, the low rumble of thunder sounding in the distance. It was the perfect weather for a funeral, Rory decided. The weather matching the emotions of the broken family. Small clusters of dark clad mourners huddled beneath wide umbrellas at the gravesite, their focus drawn to the wide cherry wood casket. The minister started the service as the first drops of rain fell.

Rory stood alone, hand wrapped around the stem of her umbrella, dark glasses on, despite the gloom. Her mother was busy with Emily, trying to hold the grieving widow together for the service. Rory stared unfocused at the ground, letting the steady cadence of the minister's voice sweep over her and lead her further into her solitude and grief. She felt her shoulders shake with silent sobs, then a warm arm reaching out to pull her close, as Luke drew her into his side. On her other side, Jess gripped her hand tightly, comfortingly. His appearance had been surprising, but he had simply shrugged his shoulders and explained that he came for her.

The group of mourners were a collection of family, friends and close business partners. Rory saw that Paris and Doyle had come to pay respects, but stood on the fringe of the group, not wanting to intrude on the family's grief. She felt a small surge of love for fiercely loyal best friend. Her eyes continued to pass over the group, not wholly focused, recognising certain faces and not others. A dark shape in the distance, not standing close enough to be part of the service, yet not far enough away to be unrelated, caught her glance. Two figures, both clad in black, huddled under an umbrella. It took a few moments for her to recognise the couple, and a few moments more for her to realise that the service had ended, and people were drifting away from the grave site to escape the rain.

She stayed frozen to the spot, the only heat she felt coming from the strong, sure grip of Jess' hand around her own, Luke having left to take care of Lorelai and Emily. The rain was coming down harder now, and she could feel it starting to soak through her clothes and chill her skin, feeling it down to her bones. It was only then, the site being vacated but for Jess and Rory, that he dared make his approach. His wife waited behind, leaving him to his private farewells. At his approach, Jess let go of Rory's hand, and moved aside to give them some privacy. Rory watched his approach warily, hand gripping tighter on the umbrella's handle.

He stopped at the casket and laid a hand on the smooth, polished wood. His head bowed for a moment, and then he reached inside his coat for an object that he then placed beside the flowers on the lid. It was only later that Rory realised it was the business section of the New York Times.

He raised his head to look at her, moving closer until he stood beside her. The silence was thick with tension and grief, and the discomfort stretched between them.

"Why did you come, Logan?" She didn't turn to look at him, keeping her gaze fixed on an invisible point in the distance instead.

"You know that I loved your grandfather. I came to pay my respects. He was a great man." His voice was quiet, almost unsure. His tone almost caused her tears to start all over again.

"Why did you bring _her_?"

He turned to face her, his eyes boring into her face. She kept her gaze fixed on the ground, feeling the intensity of his stare. She knew that if she looked up, she would no longer be able to keep her stony façade.

"She's my wife. She came for me."

"I see." Her curt reply, pain evident in her voice, made him take a half step closer.

His voice was quiet, almost pleading. "I came to make sure you were okay."

She finally turned to face him. She pulled off her sunglasses, revealing sunken eyes rimmed with red. The only emotion visible, however, was anger.

"You came to make sure I'm okay? I'm at my grandfather's funeral. Clearly, I'm not okay. The fact that you came is not okay, and bringing that woman with you is _definitely _not okay. You were on your honeymoon, why did you even bother?" He looked taken aback at her fierce words. His face went slack for an instant, and he lifted a hand to run through his hair, in a heart-breakingly familiar way.

"I needed to see you. You know how I feel about you." He reached out a hand to touch hers.

"Fuck you." Her quiet reply stopped him cold. Her eyes flashed with life and anger for a second before she put her dark shades on again.

"You really are a bastard, you know that. You're the one who left, not me. You moved away, got married. What gives you the right to keep coming back and saying these things to me? You left _me_, you don't get to keep coming back. What we had is dead. You killed it. And now it's done. And I'm done. I'm so fucking done."

Then finally, after years of sorrow and regret, Rory was the one who turned around and walked away. As she left him behind, Jess caught up with her, putting a comforting arm around her shoulders. She glanced at him sideways, and saw a familiar twitch at the corner of his lips.

"Welcome back."


	4. Chapter 4

She was completely still, seemingly lifeless. If it wasn't for the shallow rise and fall of her chest, he would be worried. Well, more worried. She was nothing like the vibrant, energetic woman he had fallen in love with. She wasn't even angry and hurt like he had seen more recently. When he looked at her now, she was nothing, a shell. She didn't move, she didn't speak, didn't eat. For all intents and purposes, she was dead.

It was her mother who had called him. And of course he had come. He didn't even wait for a flight, he just chartered his family's personal jet and left. He had no responsibilities anymore, no one to answer to. His wife had filed for divorce, citing irrevocable differences. He supposed it was his fault. He had never fully committed to the marriage, and then after the miscarriage, there was no use pretending. His wife said she had been deluding herself, pretending not to notice the coldness that had seeped into the relationship. But after they had lost the baby, she told him that she couldn't pretend anymore, she knew the marriage was over. She had been seeing another man. So she left. And once again, he had been alone. Rory, however, was a different story.

Her mother filled him in on the way from the airport. After the funeral Rory and Jess had rekindled their relationship for a short time. He seemed to have brought her back to life, and she was able to laugh, and love again. Their relationship didn't last long, that wasn't a surprise, but it did teach her how to live again. And then one day she met a man. Completely unexpectedly. She had been chasing a lead on a story, and while rifling through her notes on her way to an interview, she stepped off the curb onto the street. She didn't see the car coming at her, and if it hadn't been for the man she would have been seriously injured. He saved her life. And they fell in love.

It was a whirlwind romance. He was a Marine, just gotten back from a tour of duty. He showed her a side of life she had never seen before, romancing her with picnics under the stars, and camping adventures. She quickly fell in love with the outdoors lifestyle, and fell in love with him even faster. He was everything she needed in a man, stable, reliable and completely devoted to her. It didn't surprise her mother when they moved in together only three months later. And even less surprising that they got married four months after that. But their relationship wasn't without its problems. They wanted to start a family as soon as possible, not knowing when or if he would be called to serve again. After months of trying, they finally got pregnant, only to lose the baby a few short weeks after. They both decided that after the pain of losing their baby, they would wait before trying again. Instead, they bought a house together, and focused their attentions on renovating it to become their ideal family home. And then he was recalled.

She was lonely, alone in that big house, not knowing where he was, or if he was safe. She missed him terribly, but put on a brave front and continued to go about her life, waiting to hear from him, to reassure her that he was all right. Lorelai spent a lot of time at the house with her, keeping her company, watching movies late into the night. They were in the middle of a 'The Godfather' movie marathon, when they got the news that her husband had been killed in action. Rory was widowed after eighteen short months of marriage. And she fell apart.

She retreated back into herself, keeping to bed with the curtains drawn in perpetual darkness. It had been three weeks, and she had barely eaten, or slept. She just lay on her side, staring at nothing. But what worried her mother most of all was that she hadn't cried. The instant she heard the news it was as if the light went out behind her eyes, and all that was left was her empty body, devoid of a soul. Lorelai worried for her daughter, not wanting her to drift back to her former state of mind. And so she did the only thing she could think of. She called Logan.

They arrived a little after lunchtime. Lorelai pulled up in front of a beautifully restored Victorian house, two stories with a large wrap around porch. The large front yard was shaded by an old oak tree, perfect for children to play in. But there were no children. Sookie met them at the front door, worry marring her usually cheerful features.

"She still hasn't eaten. I cooked all her favourites, but she didn't even stir when I took the tray in. Do you think it might be time to call someone to help?" Lorelai wrapped an arm around her long-time friend, a sad smile touching her lips.

"I already have."

She led Logan up the stairs, to a bedroom down the hall. Opening the door, Lorelai gestured for him to go in.

"Rory, honey? There's someone here to see you." Getting no reaction from her daughter, Lorelai let out a sigh, and then headed back down the hallway, leaving Logan to enter the darkened room. The air smelt slightly stale, not surprising considering the room had been closed up for weeks. It took a minute or two for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. And then he saw her. Knees drawn in to her chest, Rory lay on her side with her back to the door. She wore a pair of grey sweats, far too big for her small frame, with USMC stencilled in black. There was a chair by the bedside, and he went and took a seat, noting that she seemed unaffected by his presence. He reached out, as if to take her hand, but then thought better of it and let his hand fall to his lap.

"You're mother called. She's worried. We all are." His words disturbed the stillness. She gave no reaction.

"I know I'm the last person who deserves to be here, you told me yourself. I have no right to disturb your grief, that I'm no longer a part of your life. I think your mother thought that when you saw me you would get mad again, like at Richard's funeral. I think any reaction would be a relief to her at the moment. I know there's nothing I can say to help, but I know what it is to lose someone you love. But you can't your grief to destroy you. It hurts, but you have to realise that this isn't what your husband would have wanted for you. He would have wanted you to move on. Not forget him, of course, but remember the good things you had together, not hang on to the loss. We're all here for you, to help you with whatever you need, Rory. Even me."

Getting no reaction, he stood to leave her in her solitude. He leant down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, her skin cool beneath his lips. He straightened up, and turned to leave when her hand reached out and grasped his own. Turning back to Rory in disbelief, her hand grasped his tighter almost to the point of pain.

"Please stay." Her quiet words were hoarse from weeks of silence. Logan was shocked. After all her mother had told him, he thought that his meagre efforts would be for nothing. But here she was, reaching out to him, and he would do anything in his power to keep her from retreating back into herself. So he stayed. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, keeping her hand firmly in his own. But she didn't seem satisfied with that, pulling him down so he lay next to her. And then the first tears came.

He rolled her into his arms, cradling her sobbing form to his chest. Weeks of grief and pain and heartache could no longer be contained, and she cried for hours, until finally, exhausted, she fell asleep. He held her tight the entire time, offering her a sanctuary to release some of her heartbreak. At some stage he, too, fell asleep. But they stayed together even in sleep, her cheek pressed over his heart, his arms holding her close.

She was by no means better. But slowly, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, glimpses of the old Rory returned to the house. Sookie was able to coax her to take something small to eat. Lorelai was able to open a window to let the fresh, spring air in. And all through it all, Logan stayed to help where he could. He knew that it would be a long time, if ever, before she was open to the possibility of love, but she needed him, and he was going to be there for her, for as long as it took.

Even if that meant forever.


End file.
